


Love on an Alien World

by Frostfire



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Crossdressing, Genderbending, M/M, Sex Pollen, Stars War, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8889124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostfire/pseuds/Frostfire
Summary: While Leenik, Lyn, and Nemo get to go to an alien amusement park with Tamlin and Tony, Bacta has to go undercover as Tryst's husband at a couples' resort. Too bad he wasted his veto on something else.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [masterofmidgets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterofmidgets/gifts).



> Dear masterofmidgets: Thank you for requesting this fandom! I'd never heard of Campaign before we matched on one of your other requests, and I decided to check it out. I immediately fell in love and mainlined ALL OF IT. I'm very grateful to you for introducing me to this fantastic podcast! Hope you enjoy your story, and happy Yuletide!

“Uh,” said Bacta. “Lyn—I don’t think—”

“No, no, this is perfect,” said Lyn complacently. “Leenik, Nemo and I can take Tony and Tamlin to the theme park—”

Leenik waved his datapad. “The pamphlet says it’s fun for kids of all ages. ‘Whether you’ve just hatched or you’re ageless and timeless, you’ll have a blast!’ It says that right here. Tamlin and Tony can ride the rides, and Lyn and I can check out the booths. They’re supposed to have _great_ face painters. And pets are welcome, so we can bring a lizard.”

“Shorty,” Tamlin said firmly. “Shorty likes riding on my shoulder, and his claws aren’t as sharp.”

Lyn continued without missing a beat, “—and you and Tryst can pose as a couple at the resort getaway. Rralin and Por have their suite booked for a week, so that should be _plenty_ of time for you to plant some bugs and find out if they really are Rebels.”

“Lyn,” Bacta said helplessly.

“We _need this_ , Bacta,” said Lyn. “How much longer do you think we can hold on to these plans without getting caught? If nothing else, we need a place we can call home base. I’m tired of spending a week somewhere and then having to flee for our lives.”

Tryst was frowning. “Wait a second. Does this mean Bacta and I are going to have to kiss? Because I don’t want to die.”

“That’s _not a thing_.” Bacta looked at Lyn for help. Lyn, of course, had her eyes on the prize, so help wasn’t coming in his direction at all.

“You can just hold hands or something,” Lyn said soothingly to Tryst. “No one’s going to _make_ you kiss.”

In retrospect, that should’ve been sort of a clue.

***

Bacta waited for Tryst at the _Mynock_ ’s entrance, glancing at his chrono. Lyn and Leenik had left with Nemo and the kids over an hour ago, and Tryst was late.

What a surprise.

He was sick of waiting, though, so he went back up to the crew quarters. “Tryst?”

“Don’t look!” came a muffled voice. “I’m not dressed!”

Modesty from Tryst? “I saw you naked _this morning_ ,” Bacta said, exasperated. “And yesterday. And the day before. And—”

“That’s different.”

“If you’re up to no good in there—”

“Bacta.” Tryst poked his head out from his bunk. His makeup was startling, making his eyes look enormous and his mouth dewy and rose-pink. “I’m always up to no good.”

Bacta shut his mouth after a second. “Right. Fair point.”

It wasn’t like he’d never seen Tryst in full drag before, he reminded himself as Tryst retreated to finish getting ready. When he’d been playing with the Kyber Crystals, he’d looked like an elegant fantasy creature come to life. As the female version of Cinnamon Rex, he’d looked like a redheaded sex kitten. Bacta _knew_ that Tryst could do this to himself somehow, transform himself from ordinary, infuriating, lecherous Trystan Valentine into some of the most beautiful women Bacta had ever personally seen.

It didn’t mean he was _used_ to it. Or that it wasn’t disconcerting as hell.

It wasn’t like Tryst didn’t wear kimonos _every day_. It was just…different, when he went all-out and put the effort in like this.

Bacta hadn’t even known he was going to. He’d been figuring that they’d just be…smuggler husbands, or something. They could wear matching vests. But apparently not.

Another half-hour went by, until Bacta was reduced to cleaning his gun and practicing asking Kat questions about the ship’s general state of maintenance in ways she would actually answer.

“…so if I wanted to fly to Alderaan to get a _particular_ kind of fresh herb,” he was saying, “for a native recipe I’ve been meaning to try, how fast would the ship—uh.”

Tryst emerged. He wasn’t wearing a wig this time; his hair was getting long, and he’d pinned it and styled it so that it curled around his temples and framed his—yes, okay—dramatic cheekbones. The makeup was even more brilliantly attractive when set off by the teasing tendrils of blond hair.

His dress was made of some diaphanous material, loose around the shoulders, tight at the waist, swirling around his thighs. His shoes were _insane_.

“Where did you even _get_ those?” Bacta walked around Tryst to more closely examine the silver heels. They looked like spindly works of sculpture.

“Mandalore. Do you like them?”

Tryst’s feminine voice was always a bit husky and deep, for obvious reasons, which should have reminded Bacta that he was really _Tryst kriffing Valentine_ , but somehow…didn’t.

“I think we’re going to be in trouble if we have to run away from anyone.” He also thought they did something bizarre to Tryst’s legs. Bacta saw Tryst’s legs _all the time_ , way more often than he needed to, because kimonos left nearly nothing to the imagination. He kept them smooth all the time these days—Bacta had more than once had to ruthlessly suppress a memory of Tryst absentmindedly running a hand up and down his thigh, a faint smile on his face.

So there was really nothing here he should be surprised by. But with the dress, and the shoes, and the face, and the—“Which fake chest are you using? The grenades?”

To Bacta’s surprise, Tryst shook his head. “Not realistic enough.”

“Well,” said Bacta, “it’s good to see you showing some common sense for once. Remember what happen the last time you tried to bring grenades on-planet.”

“Oh,” said Tryst in his own voice. “Don’t worry. I’ve _got_ grenades.”

“I wasn’t—Sith. Never mind. Do you have our identities?”

Tryst produced identcards from _somewhere_ , Bacta was not asking where, and said, husky-voiced again, “Lilac DeVine and Red Wood. Here you are, Red.”

Bacta groaned. “Who came up with those names? Never mind, I know it was you.”

“No one appreciates my work,” Tryst sniffed. “You should be _grateful_ I’ve gotten so much better at forging identities. Lilac’s credit history is an absolute masterpiece, you know.”

Bacta didn’t want to know. “Let’s just go.”

“Not so fast.” One manicured hand snagged Bacta’s arm and tugged him back. Bacta stared at it. Had Tryst’s nails always been so long? They definitely hadn’t always been so…lilac.

“No kissing,” Tryst said, looking him in the eye. “I mean it. I’m too young to die.”

“A, you’ve said _exactly the opposite of that_ more times than I can count, and B, _I am not cursed_. And C,” this one probably should have been first, but it was too late now, “I don’t _want_ to kiss you.”

“Okay, I _definitely_ don’t believe that. Or the other stuff. Just remember the rule.” Enormous, dramatic, glitter-outlined eyes stared him down.

“All right, fine. I will remember the rule. No kissing, I promise.” Bacta patted Tryst’s arm, and forgot to pick his hand up again. “What is this thing made of? …And how much did it _cost_?”

Tryst shot him a flirtatious grin. “Girl’s got to have her secrets.” He picked up a lilac-dyed leather suitcase and flounced away toward the ship’s entrance.

“Great,” Bacta muttered. “Why couldn’t Lyn have been married to him?” In that getup, he looked a lot like Lyn’s type, too.

But Lyn had called dibs on the theme park, and Bacta had already used up his veto on the traveling singers plan, so playing Tryst’s husband it was.

Yep, nothing could possibly go wrong. Bacta sighed, rubbed his forehead, and followed the flowing ends of Tryst’s skirt off the _Mynock_.

***

Everything about the resort was too much.

It was too big. The entrance garden was too well-manicured. The staff were too solicitous. Their room was too luxurious by _far_.

It all made Bacta uncomfortable, and he found himself hard-pressed to keep from snapping at the bellboy, the concierge, the maid, and the…he didn’t want to know what the lithe young man who’d been waiting at their door was supposed to do.

Tryst, thankfully, was deep in character; Bacta didn’t even want to think about what sort of insults and/or rampant destruction would have resulted if he’d been playing himself.

Tryst was probably the worst about it, but really, none of the crew of the _Mynock_ was comfortable with service personnel. Bacta himself still had problems with civilian hierarchies, and was always awkward about telling someone to do something for him in a way that didn’t involve barking orders. Lyn didn’t enjoy _any_ hierarchies, Leenik literally couldn’t follow a social script to save his or anyone else’s life, and Tryst…well, Tryst was naturally rude and obnoxious, but Bacta also suspected that growing up so poor had made him permanently irritated at the existence of any menial jobs.

Transferring that attitude to the people _in_ the menial jobs was a terrible way to express that, but that was Tryst all over, so it wasn’t too surprising.

Lilac DeVine, on the other hand, _loved_ having her bags carried. She loved the concierge’s solicitousness, the maid’s earnest assurances that everything had been cleaned _especially_ for them, and she seemed to love the lithe young man the most. She ran her lavender nails down his arm and pouted when Bacta sent him away.

“We have a mission,” Bacta reminded her. Him. Her. He didn’t know.

“Right.” Tryst transformed back into himself. How did he do that? He was still wearing everything he’d had on before, but he wasn’t Lilac anymore, he was Tryst Valentine in drag. “We have to find Rralin and Por and force them to take us to the Rebels.”

Bacta winced. “How about we focus on information-gathering before anything else? First we have to make sure they actually _know_ Rebels. Then we can figure out how to get them to bring us to their base.”

“Fine,” said Tryst. “I just think that once we know, we should just kidnap them. _Or_ ,” his eyes went even wider, “they could kidnap _us_.”

“Okay, _Leenik_ , that’s getting a little ahead of the game. That’s all I’m saying. One step at a time.”

Tryst looked disgusted. “You’ll never get anywhere in life with that attitude. All the steps at once, that’s my philosophy.”

Bacta chose not to engage with that, because he didn’t want to be having this argument for the next three hours. “First we need to spot them. You remember what they look like?”

“Lilac does.” Tryst’s attention had wandered to the balcony. He stepped over to the sliding transparisteel doors and poked his head out. “Red,” he cooed, “come look at the view! It’s _stunning_.”

Bacta came up behind him and looked out. The building was a broad U-shape, and their room was on the inside of it; he could see the long curve of windows and balconies leading into other rooms like theirs. “Too many sight lines.” If someone engaged one of the further rooms, a sniper could get an angle straight through the doors. And in that scenario, the bed was probably the easiest target of all.

“Oh, _Red_.” Lilac turned around and fluttered up to him, twining her arms around his neck. “You’re no fun at all.”

Bacta looked down at Tryst-Lilac’s face, the heavy-lidded eyes, the soft lips. It was so _unnerving_. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Being all…clingy. It’s weird.”

“Red!” Lilac was hurt. “This is supposed to be our romantic getaway weekend! I can’t believe you’d say something like that tonight of all nights.”

“Tryst…” Bacta was getting a headache. Why couldn’t they ever just do the mission and get out?

And _of course_ , when Tryst turned around, he was Tryst again…but he was still hurt. “I just think you could make an effort. Look how much work I put into all of this! Just to be beautiful for you.”

Bacta prayed for TIE fighters to appear outside their window. Nothing happened. “Tryst, buddy…I do appreciate it. You look really nice.”

Tryst perked up. “Do you think so?” Then his eyes narrowed. “What’s your favorite part?”

“The makeup,” Bacta said helplessly. “It’s very pretty. Makes your eyes all…big.”

“Oh.” Tryst’s pink-petal mouth quirked up. “I spent a while on that. Leenik’s been teaching me how to do it.”

“That’s great, buddy. It really shows. Great job.”

There was another long moment, where Bacta wasn’t sure if Tryst would accept the compliment, or decide that he was just saying whatever he could to keep Tryst from getting angry.

Which he was. Except he was also telling the truth. So that was complicated.

“Come on,” Bacta tried. “How about we go down to dinner? They have a fantastic menu here.” After a second of thought, he held out his arm.

Tryst’s face lit up, and he wrapped himself around Bacta’s arm and became Lilac through and through, fluttering along beside him as Bacta double-checked that he had all his guns and turned the lights out before they left.

Down in the lobby, Lilac said, “Excuse me for just a moment, sweatpea,” and went up to the concierge’s desk.

Bacta watched indulgently for a few seconds, figuring that she was asking for extra towels or a different brand of soap, before he suddenly remembered that this was not Lilac DeVine, this was _Tryst Valentine_.

He hurried up to the desk just as the concierge was saying, “Yes, of course! Of—course!”

“I’m just saying,” Lilac-Tryst was murmuring with a sweet and dangerous smile, “I _can_ end you at any moment if I’m disappointed with our view again. Our things had better be in the new room by the time we’re done with dinner, or you’ll be waking up with your eyes shut tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am, I promise, ma’am,” the concierge stammered, fingers flying over his computer.

Bacta dragged Tryst away from the desk with a hard grip on his arm. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed. “We’re supposed to be maintaining a cover! You could’ve gotten us kicked out!”

“But darling,” Tryst simpered, batting his long, long eyelashes, “I simply couldn’t _abide_ our view. Facing west is clearly superior.”

“What.” Bacta was not in the mood for this sort of Tryst Valentine ridiculousness. Not at all.

Tryst dropped the simper. “Relax,” he said, no trace of Lilac in his voice at all. “I caught sight of Rralin heading inside from one of the balconies on the other side of the building. The concierge is switching us to the room next to theirs.”

Bacta blinked. “…Oh. Good work.”

“I know.” Lilac’s eyelashes fluttered one more time, and then she swished off toward the dining room.

Bacta sighed and followed.

They were seated at a quiet table in the corner at Bacta’s request. He scanned the room, but didn’t see the targets.

Which would have meant something of a dead-end a few minutes ago, but now that they knew exactly what room Rralin and Por were in, it wasn’t a problem at all.

“There’s no reason for us to be here at all,” Bacta realized.

“Hm?” Tryst glanced at him over the top of the menu, which was ridiculously overpriced.

“This restaurant. We don’t have to be here. We have our in, there’s no reason to pay…” Bacta looked at the menu. “Fifty credits for a talmindi salad? This is piracy.”

“It fits with our cover,” Tryst pointed out, and then as Lilac, “Ooh, talmindi salad! My favorite!”

“Do you—” Bacta started, and then made himself stop.

Limpid eyes blinked at him. “What?”

“Never mind.”

“What?” Tryst asked in his own voice.

“Well, you’re just…” Bacta hesitated. “You seem to like this very much. This, and when you went out with Tubaik as Cinnamon Rex, and when you played the Kyber Crystals show as Christmas…I mean, obviously _that_ was a different sort of circumstance, but you still really—uh. And your kimonos.”

“Hey,” said Tryst, “a kimono is objectively the _best_ garment for practically any occasion.”

“Well, okay, you’re wrong, but—”

“No. Hold on. Kimonos are comfortable, they’re elegant, they’re appropriate while still being daring, they’re _very_ easy to take off if the occasion should arise—”

 “Okay, okay, wait.” Bacta held up his hands. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not really talking about kimonos.”

“Well, it sure _sounded_ like you were talking about kimonos, since you _mentioned kimonos_ and all—”

“I’m not talking about kimonos!”

Their server cleared his throat. “Uh, should I give you two a few minutes?”

Tryst tossed his menu down. “I’m having the talmindi salad,” he said, without bothering to be Lilac. “Extra rall nuts.”

“The extra nuts will cost—”

“Don’t care.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The server noted the order down on his datapad. “And you, sir?”

Bacta picked the lowest-priced item on the menu and waited for the man to disappear.

“Tryst,” he said finally, “if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I just…wondered. You seem…very comfortable as Lilac, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Tryst glared. “Of course there’s nothing wrong with it.  Did Rendezvous say anything to you about this?”

“ _What_? No!”

“Because if she told you anything about me stealing her clothes when we were kids—”

“ _No_ , Tryst, I swear to you, she didn’t say anything about that at all.” Bacta set his menu aside and met Tryst’s made-up eyes. “But if you did, there wasn’t anything wrong with that at all! Well, I mean, stealing is wrong—”

Tryst frowned. “What? No it isn’t.”

“Yes it—never mind. Specifically, wearing ladies’ clothes, no matter what age you are, is _not wrong_.”

“I know that!” Tryst snapped.

“So do I!” Bacta snapped back.

“Then what are we arguing about?”

Bacta sighed. “Nothing.”

“Well, okay then.” Tryst sat back, annoyance simmering in his eyes.

Right. Well, that hadn’t gone too badly, compared to how conversations about Tryst’s personal life usually went. Time to change the subject, though. “What sort of surveillance should we set up on Rralin and Por’s room, do you think?”

The annoyance receded. “I had an idea about that. So we rappel down from our balcony…”

Bacta rubbed his forehead. This was going to take some work.

***

The meal was spent pleasantly arguing about the best way to get ears on the room and see if Rralin and Por actually did have connections to the Rebel Alliance. Tryst made a surprisingly persuasive argument for crawling around the side of the building with grappling hooks, although Bacta was still firmly in favor of locating surveillance equipment sophisticated enough that they could point it at a shared wall and listen to their hearts’ content, _without_ the possibility of falling to their deaths.

“Excuse me,” said a voice, and Bacta looked up to see an older man in the resort’s uniform, holding a tray.

“The concierge sends his apologies about the problem with your room, miss,” said the man to Tryst, “and assures you that your reservation has been moved to the room you requested, along with your belongings. These are on the house.” He set two cocktails in front of them.

“Thank you,” said Lilac DeVine frostily. “You’re very kind.” She lifted the glass to her lips and—Bacta was watching her petal-pink lips on the rim for reasons he wasn’t examining very hard, but still didn’t quite catch how she managed it—drained it in three seconds flat. “Quite a bite,” she observed. “What’s it called?”

“Fiery Passion,” said the man. “A house specialty.”

“We appreciate it,” Bacta told him. “Really. Thanks.”

“Our pleasure, of course.” The man bowed and retreated.

Bacta tasted the cocktail cautiously. “Whoo,” he said. “That’s got a kick to it.”

“I’ll drink yours if you don’t want it.” Tryst’s eyes were already suspiciously glazed. Or was that the makeup? No, his pupils were expanding as Bacta watched.

“No, I think I’ll hold onto it,” Bacta said. He took another sip for verisimilitude. And then another. What _was_ that fascinating taste?

Tryst licked his lips. Or Lilac did. Bacta was suddenly having a hard time figuring out who he was looking at. “Shall we adjourn to our room?”

That sounded like a _great_ idea. “Yes,” Bacta said. “Yes, let’s do that.” He stood up, and as an afterthought, drained the rest of his glass.

He put a hand on the small of Lilac’s back as they entered the turbolift, feeling the silky material under his hand. All of a sudden, the only thing he could think about was if the skin underneath would be just as silky.

“What—” he started, and then he was distracted by the scent just behind her ear, and had to nuzzle her hair to get more of it.

“Mmm.” She arched into it. Or he did.

Bacta remembered what he’d been about to ask. “What do I call you?” he whispered against her neck.

“What?” She pulled back a little. “Red Wood, if you’re trying to tell me you’ve forgotten my _name_ —”

The turbolift doors opened with a _ding_ , and Bacta tugged Tryst—Lilac—out after him, and then stopped. “What room are we in now?”

“This way.” Tryst started down the hallway the opposite way. Bacta stumbled forward and ended up pressed along Tryst’s back, his arms coming up automatically to take hold of his hips. He inhaled that bewitching scent and followed Tryst’s determined progress down the hall as best he could.

When they reached their room, Tryst did something magical with his hands and the door hissed open. They practically fell through it, Bacta pressing his face into Tryst’s neck. “God, you smell good.”

Tryst pulled away. “I still want to know why you suddenly _can’t remember my name_.” His eyes narrowed. “If you say _one word_ about my sister—”

“This has nothing to do with Rendezvous!” Though he did have to wonder how similar Tryst would be to Rendezvous in bed. That night had a similar hazy quality to it as this one was getting, come to think of it.

“Then what does it have to do with?”

Bacta hauled his mind back on track. “With—this!” He gestured at Tryst.

Tryst looked down at himself. “ _What_?”

“You! Lilac or Tryst? What do I call you? I want—I want to get it right. You talk like Lilac, sometimes, and I think maybe you are her, but then you’re Tryst again, and I don’t know what to think.”

“Do you not _know_ how undercover works?” Tryst asked, slurring a little but still managing to sound incredulous. “This is all me, Tryst Valentine. See?” He started unbuttoning the dress.

Bacta’s eyes were caught by the slow reveal of skin. He saw Tryst naked _all the time_ , but somehow this time it was different.

He’d been talking. He had a point to make, an important one. Oh yes. “But is Tryst Valentine a woman right now?” he asked helplessly, watching the dress slide off of Tryst’s shoulders to reveal a bra with falsies inside. “Or a man?”

Tryst unhooked the bra and let it fall to the ground. “Does it matter?” he said. “If I answer one way, are you going to stay over there, instead of coming here to touch this?”

He was still wearing the shoes. Bacta’s eyes traced the smooth legs leading up to the lacy panties. Tryst’s erection was straining against them, stretching them out of shape, dampening the delicate fabric.

“No,” Bacta said, and came forward all in a rush.

After that, it was all a tangle. Bacta’s clothes came off somehow, and so did Tryst’s panties—but not after Bacta had pressed his mouth to the dampness on them, wetting them further, while Tryst gasped and cursed above his head.

The shoes stayed on. Tryst never tripped once, not when Bacta pushed him up against the wall, not when he darted across the room to grab the complimentary lube, not when he leaned seductively against the transparent balcony doors.

Bacta caught him up in his arms and leaned in. Tryst turned his head away. “I don’t want to die!”’

“You’re _not going to die_ ,” Bacta groaned into Tryst’s neck. “But okay. Is this okay?” He kissed down along the warm, delicious skin, biting gently at the bend of Tryst’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Tryst said, wriggling against him. “That’s _great_. Ooh, look at our view.” He tugged Bacta up to look out the window.

They contemplated the sweeping landscape of forested ground far below them, leading down to a lake lit up by a fiery sunset.

“Let’s have sex on the balcony,” Tryst said.

“Whatever you want,” Bacta said, helplessly honest, and followed him out into the warm evening air.

If anyone had asked him, he would’ve thought that Tryst would be a selfish asshole in bed. And he _was_ , he really was, but Bacta couldn’t complain about it, not when it meant that Tryst gasped and moaned underneath him, when he said, “There, _there!_ ” when Bacta found a good spot, when he looked up at Bacta, who was trembling right on the edge, through sparkling, heavy-lashed eyes and said, “Here. Do it here,” with his hand tracing a line down his stomach, and Bacta shuddered and did.

Afterward, they lay tangled together in the afterglow, Tryst tracing his fingers curiously over Bacta’s tattoos. Bacta tensed in anticipation, but for once, Tryst didn’t say anything tactless. He just kept moving his fingers over the letters and numbers, one line at a time.

A sudden noise made him start up, but Tryst hauled him back down. “Ssh,” he whispered in Bacta’s ear. “They can’t see us.”

It was true. They’d never turned the lights on when they came in, and the sun had set while they were busy paying attention to each other, so they were lying at ground-level in near-total darkness, with the sides of the balcony as cover. Bacta relaxed.

“Come back inside, Por,” drifted over from the balcony next door.

“Just wanted to look at the scenery. But it’s too dark to see anything,” Por answered. “It’s a shame the Empire will control all of this soon.”

Footsteps. “We can’t do anything about it, dearest. The General made that call. The Alliance has other priorities.”

A sigh. “I know. Well. I suppose we should enjoy it while they can.”

“So, then, I repeat,” with a smile in the voice. “Come back inside.”

The balcony door whirred shut. Bacta stayed silent for a long moment, listening to his own breathing. “Did we just—”

“Complete the mission?” Tryst said, all hints of the vulnerability he’d been showing a moment ago completely gone. “Yes, I’d say so. What would you do without me?”

Bacta rolled his eyes and kissed him.

“ _Hey_!” Tryst jerked back. “I told you!”

“This way you can be the proof,” Bacta said. “It’s not a curse after all.”

“ _Or_ ,” Tryst countered, his expression turning thoughtful, “there’s no curse in the galaxy that can beat Tryst Valentine.”

Bacta sighed. “If that’s how you want to look at it, I guess, sure.”

Tryst frowned. “So does that mean you can kiss me, but nobody else?”

“Uh….”

“Man, I’m going to be putting in some overtime on this one.” Tryst stretched, a long, full-bodied undulation. “Then again, I guess it’s not much of a hardship. Come here.”

Bacta thought about resisting, but in the end, when Tryst’s hand tugged at the back of his neck, he surrendered and leaned in.

No, it wasn’t much of a hardship at all.


End file.
